


Wild One

by missmishka



Category: Dawn of the Dead (1978)
Genre: Adrenaline Fueled Smut, Dirty Talk, Facial, Frottage, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmishka/pseuds/missmishka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"You're getting off on it, aren't you, trooper?"</em>
  <br/><em>"And you aren't?"</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild One

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The usual warnings, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories, thoughts or circumstances embellished on a little more than the original format had done. Not for any profit.

Seeing Francine dangling from that ladder with a zombie waiting to tear into her dims Roger’s enjoyment of their adventure, but the threat is quickly dealt with. 

Peter helps him haul the corpse out while Stephen pulls Fran down and they leave Flyboy to console her as they clean up the mess.  The stupid tambourine rattles as they jostle the Hare Krishnan to get the body down the stairs.

“I’ve always wanted to bust one of these nuts,” he chuckles as he pulls the dragging instrument up to tuck against the orange robes so the noise is silenced.  “Creepy cult with their pamphlets at the airport and bus station.”

“It’s not a cult, it’s a religious movement,” Peter says in a tone far too mellow to be arguing with.  “They are damned creepy, though.”

Roger looks up at that and they share a grin with that something continuing to spark between them.  Roger’s eyes drop to the other man’s lips; dark and full and a tempting chocolate that Roger is beginning to crave a taste of.  He runs his tongue distractedly over his own lips; so thin and pale in comparison, but Peter’s eyes follow the movement and darken in a way that says Roger isn’t the only one wanting a sample.

They get the body down to the back hallway leading to the boiler room and maintenance area of the mall.  It already reeks of death and the smell will only worsen as it decays further, but they put it aside to deal with later.  That damned tambourine jangles when it hits the floor, but, otherwise, all is silent except the hum of electricity. 

They scan both ends of the corridor, ears tuned for any groan or shuffle that would signal a zombie’s approach.  After a few minutes, it’s clear that they’re the only ones there.  Roger’s mouth kicks up in a grin and he resists the urge to let out a triumphant howl.

“Looks like we’re gonna be okay.”

Peter’s voice is calm with a hint of praise that strokes over Roger like a caress.  He nods his agreement to the statement and moves to go back upstairs to check on Fran.  Peter, though, doesn’t shift his position from the doorway and Roger stops at the barrier made by the large man.

“We got lucky.  Your friend’s reckless.   Could have blown it all.”

“We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Stephen,” Roger defends. 

“We got lucky,” is Peter’s only response to that.

Roger flicks a glance toward the wheelbarrow of supplies and the stairs, but there’s no way to get to them without pushing past the other man.  Adrenaline is still pulsing through him from the run through the mall and fleeing from the chaos of the city gone to hell and his jacket might cover the tenting of his trousers, but he wouldn’t be able to hide his arousal if it’s brushing against the man when he goes by.  He mentally measures the doorway and reminds that he’s a little guy, he could probably scoot past with just a fleeting contact.

Peter seems to read his intention, though, and he moves to prop his hand against the doorjamb opposite the side that he’s leaning against; definitely blocking Roger’s way.

“You’re a wild one, aren’t you?”

The words roll honey soft off his tongue and Roger tries to read the other man’s enigmatic expression.

“Jumping on that fool Wooley’s back, blowing away all those zombies, running around in all this chaos,” Peter leans in closer; close enough that his breath moves hair to tickle Roger’s ear.  “You’re getting off on it, aren’t you, trooper?”

Trusting his instincts has gotten him this far, so Roger lets them take him a little further.

“And you aren’t?”

He moves in closer and boldly puts his hand against the other man’s crotch.  Heat sears his palm through the layers covering the hard length beneath Peter’s zipper.  Roger bites back a moan as his fingers search out the whole shape of the shaft as it angles down the other man’s thigh. 

Peter shifts his stance as the length twitches within his pants and Roger would make some smart assed remark about everything being so big on the man, but he finds a better use for his mouth as he gets his first taste of chocolate.  Hot chocolate that tastes faintly of SPAM but still warms Roger’s blood to boiling as their mouths open and tongues touch. 

He presses his hand tighter to the other man’s crotch; stroking the trapped length as best he can while his other hand grabs at Peter’s neck to pull him down further.  The position is awkward; Roger’s practically bouncing on his tip toes and Peter’s bent at an uncomfortable angle, but their mouths can’t seem to part long enough for either to really fix the situation.  A thigh thrusts between his legs, giving Roger something to grind against and his fingers dig in as the friction jolts him like an electric shock.

“That’s it, baby,” Peter’s mouth pulls away to growl in Roger’s ear.  “Ride it.”

The other man leans back to brace himself more firmly against the doorframe as he moves both his hands to Roger’s ass; grabbing tightly and urging him to grind faster and harder on that thigh.  He tries to stop it; not because he doesn’t want it, but because he wants it _all_.  He doesn’t want to get off rubbing against the man’s thigh.  He wants that big dick out of those pants and buried in his ass.  Roger wants to ride **_it_** so badly that he’s whimpering as he tries to stop the thrusting of his hips against Peter’s leg.

“Shh,” Peter shushes, nipping at his earlobe as he lifts a hand to cover Roger’s mouth.  “Later.”

Roger licks the palm silencing his efforts to speak then he sucks Peter’s thumb into his mouth for something to bite down on. 

“That’s it,” Peter pulls him in closer.  “Take what you need.”

His hand squeezes Roger’s ass tighter, the fingers pressing against the seam that runs between his cheeks. 

“We’ll stay here,” he whispers hotly in Roger’s ear, words feeding the fire as much as the friction against his cock.  “Make another run to that store.  Get something nice and slick,” he licks Roger’s neck and his fingers tug as if trying to rip the seam open.  “I’ll fuck you, baby.  Just like you want.  Oh, yeah,” he huffs a laugh when Roger chokes out a sound of wantonness at the words.  “That’s what you want, isn’t it?  That pretty little ass spread open for my dick.” 

Roger grabs at whatever part of the other man that he can reach; biting down on the thumb in his mouth and trying his damnedest not to come in his pants.  He knows it’s what Peter wants; to see him break apart like some boy that’s never used his dick before and he knows that he’ll do it, too, but he can’t yet. 

“You’ll have it, baby,” that devil’s voice continues, growing huskier as his hips start grinding in tandem with Roger’s.  “And I’ll have those pretty pink lips wrapped around my dick,” he moves his thumb in Roger’s mouth, stroking over his tongue.  “Have to be careful with the teeth, though,” he pulls the digit free and replaces it with his mouth. 

Roger sucks the other man’s tongue and imagines his lips stretching around the man’s cock; imagines all these darkly whispered promises being kept and brought to life.  He hitches a leg around Peter’s waist, trying to climb the man as his body craves more.  More contact, more friction, more words, more flesh.  More _time_ , because he’s coming; throwing his head back and keening his pleasure even as he curses it as too little, too quick. 

Peter soothes him again; hands and words shifting to bring Roger down as the shudders of climax fade.  His face is hot; flushing with spent passion and a healthy dose of embarrassment at the wetness spreading in his pants.  He tries to pull away, but the other man holds him close. 

In his shifting, Roger’s leg slides against Peter’s crotch and he can feel that the other man is still hard.  He goes still at that, unsure how he feels about the fact that he’s gone off like a damned teenager while Peter’s apparently in full control of his own arousal.

“Later,” Peter says before Roger can even find words to ask or say about the man’s erection.  “We should probably check on them.”

They pull apart and Roger shifts uncomfortably at the cooling mess between his legs.  Peter moves a broad, capable hand between his own legs to shift his dick to a more comfortable position and Roger grabs hold of that hand without thought as he finds himself going to his knees before the other man.  He puts his hands on Peter’s hips and urges the man to lean back against the doorjamb.

“I think we’ve got time,” Roger glances up, his cocky grin returning as he watches Peter’s throat move in a convulsive swallow as those dark eyes take in the sight of Roger kneeling in front of him. 

“Just watch the teeth,” Peter’s mouth quirks in a grin as he runs his thumb over Roger’s lower lip.

Roger responds with a shark’s grin; all his pearly whites flashing as he nips at the other man’s gnawed digit.  Peter taps his forehead in warning before he moves his hands to unfasten his utility belt.  Roger’s hands unbutton the slacks once the belt is out of the way and he grins daringly up at the other man as he latches on to the zipper tab with his teeth to slowly drag it downward. 

Peter lets his belt fall to the floor without a care as his hands move to hurry the process along.  Roger releases the zipper to make room for those nimble fingers to push aside fabric until they pull out that thick length rearing to get relief however it could.  Roger licks his lips as he watches Peter give himself a leisurely stroke; teasing him, the knowing bastard. 

The other man’s fingers are a lighter shade of brown than his dark, blood filled cock and Roger can only imagine how those fingers must stand out in contrast against Roger’s milky white skin.  He wishes he had a mirror or something so that he could really _see_ it when that dark shaft goes into his mouth. 

Maybe they could put off the sex until they had access to a dressing room in the department store; something well-lit with mirrors all around so he could see the dark hands holding him as that big dick takes him.  The thought is enough to make his spent dick twitch but the clammy mess of his clothing if enough of a deterrent even if he could get it up again that quickly. 

It’s Peter’s turn now and the man hasn’t forgotten it as he guides the tip of his penis to brush against Roger’s lips.  He slides it along Roger’s cheek, leaving a glistening trail with the precum beading at the slit.  Roger licks his lips and tastes that salty essence; turning his head to chase its source. 

Peter pulls back the foreskin and lets Roger see the slick black plum that he’d be sucking on.  He strokes it again; so calm and composed in his motions and expression for someone with such a hard dick; leaking and so seemingly close to orgasm.  Another bead of milky white fluid oozes from the slit at the touch and Roger dives forward to lick it up. 

He drags the flat of his tongue over the tip; lapping the fluid away and replacing it with his own saliva.  A groan escapes Peter at that and Roger takes it as encouragement to explore further, pointing his tongue and flicking the tip under the skin around the glans. 

A dark hand slides into Roger’s blonde hair; fingers tangling there as the man seems to fight an internal urge to force Roger’s mouth to take more of his cock.  Roger turns his attention to the shaft; at turns licking it and giving slobbering kisses to slick the flesh so that it will hopefully slide more easily into his mouth.  When he’s wet it the best that he can without sucking it in, he pulls away enough to tip his head back so that he can lock gazes with the other man.  Peter looks down at him, hand tightening briefly in askance and Roger gives a slight nod of consent before letting his mouth fall open as far as it can.  He puts an encouraging hand on the other man’s hip to urge him forward when Peter hesitates and then that cock is being fed past his lips. 

He welcomes it with a shiver that tickles down his spine and spreads goosebumps over his flesh.  He forces his mouth to open wider as he breathes in slowly through his nose.  The smell of the other man; so musky and potent here, suddenly hits him and his dick doesn’t care that it’s laying in a cold, sticky mess of the come it just sprayed moment before; he’s getting hard again and wriggles forward to put Peter’s booted foot between his legs.  He’ll pay for it later when he has to peel off these clothes, but damned if he isn’t looking forward to coming in his pants again as he grinds himself off on the other man.

“Christ,” Peter groans above him; hand moving to the back of Roger’s head to push as his hips arch away from the wall.  “Look at you.  Starving for it,” he fucks in carefully, pushing against the back of Roger’s mouth and testing his gag reflex as the length slides down his throat. 

It blurs after that; a dizzying rush of fantasy and reality; taste, sight, sound, smell and the feel of it all overwhelming him.  He can’t take it all, but Peter seems more than happy to fuck as much of his cock as he can into Roger’s mouth. 

He coos encouragement as Roger licks and sucks and tries so hard to take it all.  He runs gentle hands over Roger’s head and throat; praising him for how much he’s taking and how well he’s doing.  He moves his foot against Roger’s crotch; the thick rubber sole of the boot a perfectly painful pleasure against his cock.  He comes with a bitten off cry that echoes in the corridor and rings in Roger’s ears like some beautiful tune.

Roger can’t take all of that, either, but neither of them care when he pulls back; choking and gagging while Peter’s own hand strokes the last of the come from his cock to streak over Roger’s cheeks. 

“Oh, yeah,” Peter breathes as he slumps back against the wall.  “You’re a wild one.”

His finger swipes through the mess on Roger’s face and that’s all it takes to have _him_ coming again; hips pumping frantically against the hard resistance of Peter’s boot.  He gasps out his release then collapses forward to clutch at the other man’s thigh like some swooning heroine in a cheesy old romance.  Peter pulls him in; one hand holding steady on his shoulder while the other cards through his blonde hair. 

Roger doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but he knows he could have stayed longer.  If his face hadn’t started to itch from the come drying on it and his knees hadn’t been screaming at him from the cold concrete floor. 

And he was in rather desperate need of a change of pants.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this started as a drabble. Just wanting to dabble a bit more with the pairing because I seem to have developed a compulsion to watch this movie. It was supposed to be a kiss; quick and reckless with Roger exhilarated by their surviving that first supply run. So this happened. This movie is so 70s but I have grown to love this pairing very much and wish more people wrote them. Because I apparently have a need for Roger/Peter smut and wants more!


End file.
